[Envinyatar]

‘Food, you say,’ mumbled Orëmir to himself. ‘And tea, too.’ He was crouched down by the small chests which had held the food for the expedition, sorting through the damp packets. Some of the dried meats that had been wrapped in cloth and laid on top had gotten wet from the driving rain and the waves. Not badly though, he thought. And since they were salted anyway, it would hardly matter that the sea had salted them once again. A folded tarp had been layered in between the meats and the dried vegetables, so that they had escaped the encroaching dampness . . . for now. Orëmir removed the meats and the dampish tarp, leaving the remaining contents of the chest to their dry environs.

The meats he wrapped in a dry cloth from his own pack and stuffed them in a small pot he found among the jumble of pots and utensils beneath the tarp Endamir had taken refuge during the storm. Some wizened apples were also tossed in – something to tide Endamir over until a proper meal could be made. A larger kettle was found; good for tea water he thought. And into it went some packets of tea leaves, cups for drinking, and the sealed pot of honey Endamir had procured on their passage through the Shire. ‘Best blackberry honey this side o’ the Tower Hills,’ the old gammer had told them. Only the lack of space in their packs had prevented his sweet-tooth brother from buying an additional pot.

Orëmir took one of the smaller coils of rope and tied the cookery pots and kettle onto both his and his brother’s packs. Hefting a pack onto each shoulder he eased himself over the side of the ship and dropped into the shallow surf. He could see Endamir waving at him urging him to hurry onto the beach. Orëmir shook his head and grinned. ‘Just like old times . . .’